Close Comfort
by LaylaBinx
Summary: Nick is hurt, Nick has unknowingly become part of Monroe's pack, and the protective wolf instincts are now rushing in like a hurricane. Tag to Game Ogre. No slash, just friendship! :D


**Hello lovelies! I've been playing around with this idea since Game Ogre and just now got around to writing it lol! This was written for a very lovely prompt posted by Virgo_79! Hope you all like it! :D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing =/**

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If he's honest with himself, he's been expecting the call all night. It's late, close to midnight, when his phone vibrates furiously across the table top. He instinctively knows who it is, he doesn't even have to look at the caller ID when he flips it over. "Hello?"

"Hey," Nick's voice is soft and faint, far away like he's speaking through cellophane. Monroe wonders how much of that is due to the heavy drugs he's on and how much of it is because it hurts to talk.

"Hey," he answers back, unconsciously frowning at the weakness of the detective's voice. "You okay?"

There's a pause, a hesitation that speaks volumes, before Nick speaks again. "I-" Another pause, this one just a pregnant as the first, and its filled with all the things Nick won't bring himself to say. He's hurt. He's alone. He's scared.

Monroe is already grabbing his keys and walking toward the door before Nick can say another word. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

**OOOOO**

Monroe beats his own record getting over to Nick's house, pulling up to the curb in just over eight minutes. He turns off the engine and steps out of the car, closing the door and walking up the front steps to Nick's porch. He rings the doorbell, jaw clenching a bit when he sees the boarded up window panes along the side of the house. Oleg may be gone but his presence certainly isn't and Monroe knows it will be a long time before any of them get over the attack.

It takes Nick much longer to answer the door than usual but Monroe doesn't question it; the extent of his injuries pretty much ensures that he'll be taking things slower for a few days. When he does finally answer the door, he's clinging to the wooden frame like it's the only thing keeping him from toppling over (which it probably is).

Monroe is almost able to hide the grimace that crosses his face at the sight of Nick's injuries but a small portion of it still flashes across his features. Nick notices and gives him a tired smile. "Guess I look kinda rough, huh?"

"Rough? Dude, you look like Hell," Monroe mutters, taking a step inside the house and looking the younger man up and down. The bruises that had been so ugly in the harsh light of the hospital were now even worse as they darkened and set. They covered Nick's arms and face and Monroe was certain his torso was a rather terrible patchwork of blacks and blues beneath his shirt. Nick looked like he's been hit by a bus.

"Well, we can't all be born models like you, Monroe," Nick teases, closing the door with a wince as his injured shoulder shifts a bit in its sling. He hobbles past him, his movements slow and rigid like an old man, and Monroe follows him into the kitchen.

"Yeah, I don't know how you poor slobs do it," Monroe quips back, setting his keys down on the kitchen table and watching as Nick grabs two beers from the fridge. "I mean us blutbads are born looking like Greek gods but you humans, well…you're just kinda pink. And you all look like Winston Churchill when you're born."

Nick cracks a smile and it looks painful. "Babies look like Winston Churchill?"

"Yeah, they do," Monroe counters, taking the beer Nick offers him and sitting down at the table. "Have you ever seen a newborn? They look exactly like Winston Churchill."

Nick smiles again and takes a careful sip of his beer. "I'll have to tell Juliette about that in case she ever decides she wants kids."

Monroe frowns and looks around the room, realizing for the first time that Juliette isn't here. "Where is Juliette? Late night at the clinic?"

Nick shakes his head slowly, the motion stiff and measured like he's afraid his head might pop off. "No, she's staying with her mother for a few days. She was still pretty shaky about coming back here after the attack, you know?" An uncharacteristically dark look crosses over Nick's eyes as he glances back toward the broken window in the living room. "I can't say I blame her."

"Is that why you called me?" Monroe slaps himself internally, hating the fact that he just put Nick on the spot like that. It shouldn't matter what Nick had called him for; it never had before and it certainly shouldn't matter now. He's not even really sure why he brought it up, it somehow just slipped out.

"Yeah, actually." Nick's answer surprises him and he actually looks up at him from where he's sitting at the table. Nick looks vaguely embarrassed by the admission and refuses to meet his eyes for a second. He takes another sip of the beer before he speaks again. "You know, whenever we do reports for break ins, the victims always ask us what they should do. Should they get a security system? Should they change the locks on the doors? What can they do to feel safe in their own home again?" Nick shrugs and winces a bit. "The truth is, once someone has broken into your house, its almost impossible to ever feel completely safe again. Even if they're caught, there's always that knowledge that they invaded your home and you were powerless to stop it."

Nick's voice fades off and he's staring at the floor like something disgusting and vile is seeping through the linoleum. Monroe doesn't like the dead look in his eyes, the uncertainty in his voice, and he takes the opportunity to clear his throat. "Well, to be fair, most of the break ins you guys work have nothing to do with a Siegbarste holding a vendetta. Nick, the fact that Oleg didn't kill you with his bare hands is a freakin' miracle, let alone hurt Juliette. I know that doesn't really make it better but this wasn't just a normal break in."

"I know, and that's what drives me crazy! It wasn't a normal break in, he came looking for me to get to Hank and then when he figured out I was a Grimm, that was just icing on the cake!" Nick attempts to gesture with his hands but between the dislocated shoulder and the bruised ribs, its hard to do much of anything more than just motion with them. "I mean, what if Juliette had gotten home before I did? What if Oleg caught her instead of me? How am I supposed to protect her when I couldn't even-" He stops himself before he can finish that thought process but Monroe understands exactly what he means.

"Nick, I know you're beating yourself up over this but trust me, there was nothing you could have done to stop it. Oleg was out for blood and he was going to get to you one way or another. The fact that it was here, in your house, is pretty messed up but it could have been a lot worse. A LOT worse." He feels the wolf roil in him like an angry whirlpool and he swallows back the urge to growl. "Remember when I told you about the Siegbarste that attacked my friend Freddie's family growing up? Do you want to know how much was left when he got done? Closed casket man, closed casket because it was too gruesome to keep it open." He sighs, mentally pulling himself away from that image and focusing back on the two of them in the kitchen. "The point is, you're still here and you lived to fight another day. I know you're worried about Juliette but from what I heard at the hospital, she's pretty damn tough herself."

Nick smiles again, slightly less painful this time, and nods. "She threw boiling water on him."

"That's more than I can say for most people; most people don't even get that chance before they're crushed like grapes." Monroe just manages to suppress a shudder as the last image of Freddie's father creeps up on him. It had been more blood than blutbad at that point…

"The window should be fixed in a couple days," Nick says, changing the subject subtly and indicating the living room with his beer bottle. "I told Juliette to stay with her mother until it gets repaired, I didn't want her coming back home and being reminded of it anymore than she has to be."

"And what about you?"

Nick looks at Monroe, the bruises on his face dark and livid, and he sighs very softly. "I'm not sure yet."

Monroe just nods and sets his beer on the table. "Well, I guess I can step in for that."

Nick smiles gratefully even though he doesn't say anything and the relief is visible on his face. They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, the ticking of the clock on the wall the only thing to fill the void left by the absence of talking.

"So Hank is pretty dead set on finding out who took Oleg down," Nick says after a minute, meeting Monroe's eyes with a smile. "You might want to watch out."

Monroe smirks and takes a sip of beer. "I'd like to see that actually, it'd make a pretty interesting revelation. 'Local Clockmaker Shoots Escaped Criminal With Magical Grimm Gun'; that'd be on front pages everywhere."

Nick tries to laugh but the laugh instantly turns into a cough which has him doubled over almost immediately. The cough gets worse, wracking his body mercilessly, and he grips the countertop tightly in a white-knuckled grasp. His knees begin to buckle and he nearly hits the floor before Monroe is out of his chair and looping an arm around his torso, hoping like hell he's not pressing down on his ribs. Nick continues to slip though and Monroe just kind of follows him down to the floor, fearing that trying to hold him up will do more damage than good at this point.

The cough subsides after a few seconds but the damage is done and Nick is left shaky and breathless. What little color he had left is now completely drained from his face and his skin is pale and flushed beneath dark bruises. His eyes are squeezed shut tightly and his breath is coming in harsh, ragged gasps that sound painful to even listen to. Monroe gently eases him back against the cabinets behind him, hoping the support will help him breathe a bit easier. It seems to help a little but Nick still looks like he's ready to pass out and Monroe keeps a hand on his shoulder just in case.

"Jesus, man…" He mutters after a second, his brows creasing with worry as he takes in Nick's alarmingly grey complexion. "When was the last time you took a pain killer?"

Nick's eyes are still closed tightly and he's taking short, shallow breaths through clenched teeth. "Right before you got here…it hasn't kicked in yet…" He gasps and all the words kind of run together toward the end. One arm is curled across his ribs protectively and his muscles are clenched and rigid from pain where he's sitting. The pain killers he'd gotten from the hospital worked well but it took a bit of time for them to take effect.

Monroe cursed softly, literally smelling the waves of pain that were rolling off of Nick's body. "Shit…okay, let's get you off the floor and into the living room, huh? You'll be a lot more comfortable on the couch."

Nick shakes his head weakly but Monroe ignores him, carefully slipping an arm around his waist and pulling him up slowly. The younger man hisses in pain as his body is unfolded from the ground and his fingertips dig little circular bruises into Monroe's shoulder as he clings to him.

The trip is short but slow and Monroe takes careful, measured steps into the living room to prevent Nick's wounds from being jostled too much. This precaution means nothing, however, when Nick's foot catches the edge of the coffee table and nearly sends them both down to the floor again.

There's a short yelp of pain from Nick and Monroe unconsciously tightens his arm around him, completely unconcerned with his injuries right now and just focused on keeping them from taking another spill. "Whoa…whoa…easy…" He mutters, lowering Nick onto the couch as carefully as he can. "Just take it easy…"

Nick's face is still a mask of agony and he looks like he can't make up him mind between straightening out and curling in on himself. The paleness of his skin makes the bruises that cover his body look so much worse and Monroe is desperate to find some way to ease the pain. He has a container of Arnica salve somewhere in his car but he's not sure where it is and he's afraid to leave Nick alone while he tries to find it. The second best thing would be Apple Cider vinegar but he has no idea if Nick even has any. Still, its better than nothing and he's willing to search for that over turning his car upside down at the moment.

He eases Nick back against the couch cushions and stands, walking back into the kitchen and going to the pantry. He searches the shelves, coming up empty, and changes direction to the spice cabinet above the sink. He finds a half-empty bottle of Apple Cider vinegar tucked in the back of the cabinet and pulls it out. His grandmother had been a firm believer in the whole "vinegar cures everything" tradition and had adamantly stuck to it when he and his siblings were growing up. For every ache and ailment he had when he was a kid, the Heinz would come out and he would walk around with vinegar-soaked compress taped to him for an hour.

He grabs a washcloth from the drawer next to the sink and pours a liberal amount of vinegar on it, wetting it under the faucet as well. He wrings it out and walks back into the living room, crouching down next to the couch beside Nick. The younger man is still half-curled on the couch but face isn't nearly as pale as it had been a minute ago. He opens his eyes a bit when the blutbad begins unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it away from his chest and torso and examining the extensive bruising that litters his skin.

The whole right side of Nick's chest is a myriad of purples and blues, the skin horribly discolored and swollen from underlying injured tissue. Nick sucks in a sharp breath when the cold washcloth is pressed against the largest of the bruises and grips the edge of the couch with one hand. "Ngh…what are you doing?" He asks, voice clipped and tight with pain.

"It's a vinegar compress," Monroe explains simply, applying just a fraction of pressure to the cloth. "It's going to help decreased the swelling and promote circulation so the bruise heals more quickly."

"I'm going to smell like a pickle," Nick mumbles sullenly though his body does relax by a degree against the couch. More than anything, the coldness of the vinegar and water mix is helping to take away some of the pain.

"It's a necessary sacrifice," Monroe teases, reluctantly removing his hand from Nick's side and standing slowly. "Stay here, I have something else that might help in my car."

Nick gives a weak nod and stays where he is. "I'm not going anywhere."

Monroe walks outside and jogs down the sidewalk to his car. For being such a compact vehicle, he's always amazed at the amount of crap that ends up on the floorboards. He sifts through a few commission sheets and a plastic bag full of tools he's been meaning to take out for two weeks and finally finds the container of Arnica salve underneath the passenger seat. He pockets it and closes the door, making his way back up the driveway and to the front door.

True to his word, Nick hasn't moved from the couch (though Monroe kind of doubts he could even if he wanted to). He carefully removes the compress and scoops out a liberal amount of the salve, applying it to the largest bruise with gentle hands. Even gentle hurts though, and Nick's eyes squeeze shut tightly against the white-hot throb that's radiating from his ribs.

Monroe wants to offer him some form of comfort but it seems every inch of Nick is covered with bruises and scrapes and its hard to find an area he can touch without inflicting more pain. He works as gently and carefully as he can, treating Nick like one of his antique clocks that's as fragile as glass. Still, his efforts seem to do little good as Nick visibly flinches and winces with each bruise he touches. He covers the bruises on his chest and torso first, slowly moving up to treat his arms and finally his face. He's certain there are bruises hidden beneath the denim of Nick's jeans but he's not willing to jostle him anymore than he has to in order to get to them.

He moves up to the couch, raising Nick as carefully as he can before leaning him back and cradling his head in his lap. He has a better view of the facial bruising from this angle and keeping Nick from laying flat on his back is probably helping with some of the pressure on his ribs. The black eye is the worst, stretching from the top of his eyebrow and sweeping down to discolor his cheekbone and lower jaw. There's a few other bruises along his hairline and beneath his eyes but they're not as noticeable. Still, Monroe takes his time and tends to each one the way he did for the bruises on Nick's torso.

Nick keeps his eyes closed during the ministrations but the tight lines of pain are slowly beginning to disappear from his face. "What is this supposed to do?" He asks finally, not bothering to open his eyes as Monroe's thumb presses a small amount of the salve to an ugly yellow bruise beneath his eye.

"This is Arnica. It's like Bengay on steroids," Monroe explains, scooping out a little more of the salve and rubbing it into another bruise along Nick's temple.

"It smells like pine trees."

"Better than pickles, right?"

Nick just smiles faintly and lets Monroe work. It may have hurt when he was putting it on but the salve really was helping with some of the pain. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience but definitely not one he was used to. Still, Nick finds Monroe's presence oddly comforting and the fact that he was here took away some of the anxiety Nick is still grappling with.

When Monroe finishes covering the last of the bruises, he sets the nearly empty container on the coffee table and leans back against the couch. Nick is heavy and limp against his legs, his breathing slowing to indicate sleep, and Monroe doesn't have the heart to pick him up and carry him to bedroom. Instead he sits there, his thumb working long, continuous paths across Nick's forehead as he tries to erase some of the pain lines that continue to show through. He runs his fingers through his dark hair lightly, mindful of the various bumps and bruises hidden beneath Nick's hair.

After about thirty minutes, Nick is completely asleep and the pain killers he'd taken earlier seem to have finally taken effect. His expression isn't completely relaxed but its more peaceful now and not nearly as masked with pain. Monroe's hands are working on autopilot now as he continues to smooth his fingers through Nick's hair in a soothing gesture his mother used to do. His mind is racing a mile a minute beneath his calm exterior and he's stuck in the turmoil of his own thoughts now that Nick is asleep.

He can still smell the stench of Siegbarste in the room and he makes a silent decision to come back tomorrow and disinfect the entire house with bleach and soapy water just to get rid of that smell. There's the lingering presence of the swarms of police officers that had combed through the living room the day before and Monroe vaguely wonders if it bother Nick that he's now being treated like a victim. Nick still has that sterile, hospital smell clinging to his skin but its not nearly as heavy as it had been when he was hooked up to an IV in the hospital bed. He can smell dried blood beneath the Arnica coating Nick's skin and it smells like rust and copper, the stale smell of healing bruises. The wolf inside is rumbling against his nerve endings like a live wire and he knows its due to pack mentality.

He usually manages to ignore his baser, animal instincts in favor of the rigid control and routines he's developed over the past few years. Still, there are just some things that toe the line a bit too closely and its harder to push them back into the recesses of his mind. Nick is hurt, Nick has (unknowingly) become part of Monroe's pack, and the protective wolf instincts are now rushing in like a hurricane.

His first instinct is to wrap himself around Nick and keep him curled and close on the couch. He has to physically restrain himself from doing that though because doing so may exacerbate Nick's injuries and that's a bit counter productive to what he's trying to do. Still, he needs to be close and he needs to be touching him in order to shut up the wolf in his head and to provide some kind comfort for both of them. He keeps his hands on Nick, always touching him somewhere and somehow, and it seems to help.

He keeps this contact for a long time, content to just sit there with Nick leaning back against him. It's nice and its comfortable and it just feels _right. _The clock strikes three a.m. before Monroe begins to feel his eyelids droop and a heavy wave of exhaustion sweeps over him. He tries to shift down on the couch without shuffling Nick too much and he manages to get a bit more comfortable against the arm of the couch. He's still reluctant to relinquish contact with the younger man though so he settles himself with gently curling an arm across Nick's chest in an attempt to keep him close. Nick's breathing is slow and even and its nowhere near the horrible breathlessness he'd been experiencing in the hospital; Monroe has been trying for a full day and a half to get that sound out of his head.

He gives into the wolf's instincts a little bit more and curls his arms around Nick a bit more tightly. He can't curl around and over him the way he wants to but he can get close. Nick is pressed against his chest, secured in his arms, and it's the best he can do for now. Monroe sighs softly and closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of Nick's hair and the earthy smell of the Arnica and tries to drown out the lingering stench of Siegbarste that fills the room. Yep, lots and lots of bleach is definitely on the to-do list for tomorrow…

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**Apple Cider Vinegar-dilates blood vessels and helps increase circulation; good for reducing swelling and easing pain.**

**Arnica-natural muscle relaxer/pain reliever; good for traumatic injuries such as bruises, strains, and sprains**

**Hope you all enjoyed it! :D**


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